I remember them as being the most intimate moments between my parents. Occasionally, mom would be sitting in the living room chair and dad would kneel in front of her. Leaning forward, he would lay across her lap, his head resting on her upper thigh. He was a big man and you could see his weight settle onto her form as his eyes closed. Laying her hands on his back, she’d stroke in long, lazy circles. You could see the tension flow out of him. Time passed. She wouldn’t stop until he stirred. And then always, he’d lean over her, a light kiss and a “thanks Fayzie”.
As a child, you don’t think about the significance of touch. We were a “touchy” family – hugs and kisses flowed freely. As an adult, hugs and kisses are still wonderful, but there is something about laying hands on or the holding of hands that is the core of a physical connection for me. It’s a place of refuge, of love, of friendship and guidance.
As I started to write this post, so many of those "hands on" times in my life came back to me. Rather than try to work them into some form of a cohesive story, which I just don’t believe is possible, I decided to list a few.
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| Craig, the oldest and me, the baby of the family. |
I made myself stop at a baker’s dozen and here they are, in no particular order other than how they came to mind…
- When I got one of my frequent headaches/migraines, Mom would place a cool washcloth over my eyes and lightly run her hands through my hair and over my scalp. Her fingertips worked magic to ease the pain.
- When my oldest brother Craig was leaving for the service, we all went to the airport to see him off. At that time you could actually go to the gate and wait for them to board. Although my mom and dad were there and my other brothers and sisters, I selfishly held on and wouldn’t let anyone else hold his hand. Had he not come back to us, I probably would feel terribly guilty about that today.
- Abram and I held hands as we walked around his first PRIDE event ever. It was one of the most intense parenting experiences I’ve ever felt.
- Having my dad place my hands in Steven’s when we reached the alter and then Steven placing the thin gold my wedding band on my finger. 29 years and counting and I’ve never taken it off.
- The first time after I joined our church as an adult and I shook the hands of those around me, sharing “Peace be with you” - “And also with you”
- Holding my mother’s hand in the hospital bed as she lay dying, and then, just ten months later, holding my father’s as he passed as well.
- Steve’s loving and accepting arms around me as I shared awakening memories of the worst three years of my life.
- Delivering Abram prematurely and then not touching him until he was four days old due to his being transferred to the Children’s neo-natal unit. And oh, the joy when he was taken out of the isolette and laid in my arms.
- Giving my mother in law, Ann, a manicure as she lay in the hospital bed in her living room under the care of hospice and family.
- Guiding my mom for the last three years of her life whenever I walked next to her because her right peripheral vision was gone due to her traumatic brain injury.
- Countless hours and thousands of miles of riding in the car with Steven or Abram and holding their hand.
- Abrams recurrent migraine headaches and rubbing my thumb at the indent of his temple to ease his pain and help him fall asleep.
- Reaching out in the middle of the night, and feeling calmed just by placing a hand on Steven.
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| One of my favorites, a Morgan hand-holding chain... |
